


In Mendax

by FloreatCastellum



Series: The Theia Higglesworth Trilogy [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Gen, Organized Crime, Suspense, Thriller, Undercover, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-02-16 04:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18684289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloreatCastellum/pseuds/FloreatCastellum
Summary: Theia Higglesworth has reached a point of no return. Three years after she first met Harry Potter, she continues down a path that will change her life irrevocably in her hope to mend past mistakes.The final story in the Theia Higglesworth series.





	1. Prologue

The alarm clock trilled, though she had been awake for several hours. She’d been thinking about her last visit to Azkaban, those rough stone walls and that crashing sea. That thin, increasingly gaunt face. 

_‘I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore.’_

_‘No,’ she assured him. ‘I told you, I was very ill.’_

She rose from her bed. The cameras and press would be gathering, right now, their chatter and clicks filling the atrium, but her flat was silent as she went to the kitchen. 

Toast. Brown bread. 

Harry would be getting ready too, probably searching for his medal with the baby on his hip, maybe shouting for Ginny to help. She stared at nothing as she imagined it, her teeth crushing and tearing the crusts of the toast, her mind on the fierce scarlet of his robes.

_‘While I was ill… I came to some realisations,’ she told him. ‘I… I became very angry.’_

She stepped into the shower, and moved the tap from hot to icy cold. She felt it sting at her skin, and closed her eyes. Breathe steady now. She raised her arm, and practiced the move.

_‘I know who you need to speak to,’ he replied. ‘About your anger. If you really mean it.’_

Ginny would be coming too; they would wrap the little newborn against her chest. The cameras would love it, the journalists would be falling over themselves to get to them. Baby Potter’s first outing to the wizarding world, as his father returned to work.

_‘Yes, I really mean it, Dennis. Things have to change.’_

She dressed into her formal robes. The last time she had worn these was the day she had been assigned to him, almost exactly three years ago. Her fingers moved nimbly over the shiny buttons, and she pulled her hair into a perfect bun. She needed the boots with the extra inch on the heel. Strap the knife on beneath the red sleeve. Don’t forget the lipstick. 

It was time to go. She went through her flat. Turn off the water supply. Shut off the lights. Pop a few more things in the attic space for safe keeping. One last look. 

A twist and a crack. 

As expected, the atrium was filled with the flashing glare of the press, bouncing off the buttons of the formal robes. Judy and Matt waved to her, but she walked through the rows of chairs with a roaring sound in her ears, as though she were deep underwater. 

She saw him, with his family, and Robards, at the base of the stage. She approached. 

‘You good to go?’ he asked her, smiling. She nodded. 

‘We’ll be starting in five minutes,’ Robards growled, glancing at his watch. ‘You both know your roles?’ But he didn’t wait for an answer, just stormed off. 

‘I suppose you should both get on stage,’ said Ginny warmly, a large, heavy looking nappy bag slung over her shoulder. She looked at Theia meaningfully. ‘Congratulations on qualifying.’ 

‘Thank you,’ said Theia, her mouth dry. 

Harry grasped her shoulder. ‘Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fine.’ Then he turned to Ginny, and kissed her. Theia felt the cameras flash, saw the couple illuminated in silver. Then he leaned down and kissed the head of the baby boy Ginny was holding, who was sleeping soundly. 

She couldn’t hear, but she saw his lips move as he muttered something against the tuft of dark hair, saw his hand move to hold one of the tiny little hands, and then caress the baby’s chubby cheek. And then he whispered something to Ginny, and Theia looked away. 

Then she felt his hand on her elbow as he gently pushed her towards the steps onto the stage, and then she went to sit on the chairs to the left, and he went to stand with the other senior aurors on the right. 

They waited, the rest of the chairs being filled, the press jostling for better positions, the chatter winding down into excited whispers. 

Finally, it was time, and Robards stepped forward to the podium. He greeted them all. He told some joke. Theia felt sick as there was a rumble of laughter. 

‘-And today we gather to welcome the largest number of newly qualified aurors to the department since 1939,’ Robards was saying. 

She stared out stoically. The words and laughter of those around her were like echoes, the only thing she could hear clearly was her own breathing. 

The names started to be called, and from the chairs around her the other trainees would rise, and proudly march forward to rapturous applause, shake the hand of their mentor, and go to stand beside them - finally, a qualified auror. 

‘Theia Higglesworth.’

She rose. There was a ringing sort of noise, everything else muffled. The cameras were more furious as she walked out, because Harry had stepped forward too. The light of it all was blinding, bouncing off the shining Order of Merlin on his chest. 

So bright was it, she could only just make out his reassuring smile at her. Her heart was in her throat, there was a tingling of terrible adrenaline prickling from her chest down through to her feet. 

He held out his hand, and she took it to shake. She felt his fingers squeeze her cold palm. Then, with her other, she flicked her wrist - the hidden knife slid easily into her hand. There was so much light that no one on stage would see. The motion was fluid, swift, deliberate.

She stabbed him. 

The green eyes widened, there was a gurgle as the blood spurted from the base of his throat. He clutched a hand to it and dropped to his knees. 

She didn’t give them time to react, or realise what had happened. The last thing Theia heard before she twisted and vanished was the surprised yells of the crowd and, above it all, Ginny Potter’s horrified scream.


	2. Flight Risk

It was madness. The screaming, the yelling - the dozens of stunning spells that hit the spot where Theia had just been standing, scorching a mark into the wooden podium. Harry felt his hot blood bubbling beneath his hand, felt himself choking, almost drowning under it, but he kept up the pressure, pressing his palm as hard as he could against the slippery warmth as he lay slumped on the floor. 

‘Get back!’ someone was shouting. ‘Don’t take photos, just get back! Get back!’ 

He was dizzy, but he felt Ginny’s hands on him, heard his son’s screeching cry. He couldn’t move his head, but he looked up and stared into his wife’s warm brown eyes. ‘It’s ok,’ he tried to say, but he just spluttered blood. 

‘Don’t,’ she said, her hand stroking his hair. ‘It’s ok, it’s all right…’ 

Somebody pressed some material against his neck, his fingers fumbled it and pressed it against the wound, and he could feel their hand too, still applying that pressure. 

He felt himself being lifted, still so surrounded by shouts, and then there was a spinning, squeezing sensation, and he vaguely recognised that he was somewhere bright, and clean, and the scarlet robes were now blue and white, and now he was on a bed- 

Someone took his hand away from his throat, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He was sinking, falling, spinning into darkness… 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

His eyes fluttered open, squinting at the brightness of it all. He was lying on a soft, comfortable bed, and he slowly turned his head to the left to see the blurry figure of his wife. He saw her move to the bedside table, and then she gently pushed his glasses onto his face. 

‘James,’ he said, hoarsely. 

‘He’s all right,’ she said, smiling. ‘Look.’ 

She took the grizzling baby from her chest, and carefully placed him on Harry’s. He raised a hand to rub his son’s back, tilted his head to smell his sweet hair and kissed him lightly. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he mumbled, his voice still scratchy. ‘But you won’t remember it.’ 

‘Ah, Mr Potter.’ He looked up to see a Healer bustling in. ‘Good to have you back.’ 

‘I should just sponsor my own bed in here, shouldn’t I?’ said Harry, smiling weakly. Over the years, he’d become increasingly familiar with the staff of St Mungos. 

Healer Gower winked at him. ‘Not much harm done this time, just a bit of a mad panic. The knife wasn’t magical so you won’t have any lasting damage, or even a scar.’ 

‘Makes a nice change,’ said Harry. 

‘I should think so,’ said Healer Gower bracingly. ‘You still sound a bit hoarse, but that should clear up in a day or two.’ He perched on the end of Harry’s bed. ‘Well done though, you kept calm and applied plenty of pressure, which gave us time. Could have been nastier, but luckily the knife just about hit your collarbone-’ he gestured to the crook of his own neck and shoulder in demonstration, ‘so it was very bloody but not too much risk once we’d got you here.’ 

‘She must’ve missed,’ said Harry vaguely. James squirmed sleepily on his chest, and the Healer smiled at them. 

‘Yes, I don’t know if she was aiming for your heart or your throat, but either way she had terrible aim. Well, they’re on the hunt for her anyway. Any clue why she would have done that?’ 

‘I can think of a few,’ said Harry glancing at Ginny, who grimaced back. ‘I suppose I’ll have to speak to Robards about it.’ 

‘If you’re ready for visitors, I’ll let him know, but as I understand it he’s leading the manhunt so you have some time to rest,’ said Healer Gower. ‘You’ve got Hermione Granger waiting outside too, can I send her in?’ 

Harry nodded, and the Healer left. Harry looked up at his wife, who sighed and shook her head gently at him. ‘Oh, Harry…’ she said, sounding a little exasperated. 

‘It’s all good,’ he told her, reassuringly. ‘I’m sorry you had to see it.’ James squirmed even more, and started to show signs of waking, so Harry handed him back. ‘Lot’s of dramatic photos for the press?’ 

‘Oh, yes,’ said Ginny darkly, taking her son. ‘Very grisly.’

The door opened again, and they looked up to see a woman with mad, bushy brown hair enter. She looked pale and shaken. 

She dumped a box of chocolates on Harry’s bed and sat in the empty seat next to Ginny, glaring at him and breathing heavily.

‘What are the chocolates for?’ he asked. 

‘I hoped you’d choke on them,’ she said in a clipped sort of voice. 

‘The box says these are melt in the mouth.’ 

‘All right, no need to be a smartarse,’ she said, ignoring his grin and Ginny’s chuckle. ‘Are you all right?’ 

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he assured her. ‘You did well.’ 

‘Never ask me to do anything like that again,’ she said. ‘It was so risky-’

‘I told you it would be all right, and it was,’ he said. ‘Both of you.’ 

‘I think this may be the only time one of your plans has worked, though, Harry,’ said Ginny, smiling wryly. ‘Don’t blame us for being worried it wouldn’t.’

‘And it’s not finished yet,’ added the bushy-haired woman anxiously. ‘They’ve shut everything down, every auror and law enforcement wizard is-’

‘Theia,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s all going to plan. You did well. Right on target.’ 

They had practiced, over and over again in the living room of his cottage, in the kitchen of her flat, first with fists and then with pencils - get the angle right. Right here. Right on the mark. No, too low, that would have killed me. You need to lean forward when you take my hand. Too high, you’ll miss me entirely. Be precise. You’re too tall. You’re too short. Stretch your arm out more. Wait for the signal - when I squeeze your hand. 

‘It could have gone so wrong-’

‘But it didn’t,’ he said firmly. ‘Because you kept focused, because it’s your job. And it was the only way you’re going to be able to do this convincingly.’

‘Your wife and child didn’t have to be there,’ she hissed.

‘I needed to put the shield charm over his heart and make sure someone had enough common sense to apply a towel,’ said Ginny briskly. ‘The heartbreaking pictures with me and the baby over him won’t hurt either.’ 

‘You’ll be all right,’ Harry told her. ‘You know what to do for the rest of the operation.’ He eyed the end of her thick brown hair. ‘You’re shortening.’ 

Theia glanced down at her shrinking hair, and reached into her robes to pull out a bottle, which she drank from and shuddered violently. The hair returned to Hermione length. 

She breathed heavily, and then said, ‘you’ll look after the cat, won’t you?’ 

‘Of course I will.’ 

She nodded, and then said quietly, ‘well, I suppose I better go. I don’t want to miss the flight.’ 

Ginny handed her the large nappy bag. ‘I’ve put all your things you asked for in here - and in that front pocket is Hermione’s passport.’

‘Don’t forget the mirror,’ said Harry. 

‘Ah, yes, here-’

She handed Theia a small compact, which, when opened, revealed a cracked mirror inside. 

‘You’ll only see me in that fragment in the middle,’ said Harry. ‘You remember all the alert words?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘And you’re sure the information Creevey gave you is reliable?’ 

‘As sure as I can be,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, there’s no going back now, is there?’

‘Good luck then,’ he said. 

She nodded, and made to leave, but paused in the doorway. ‘If you had died…’ 

‘Imagine how convincing that would have been,’ he said lightly. She gave a small, forced smile, and was about to turn away again, when he continued, his voice hesitant and unsure. ‘Hey… Did you twist the knife?’ 

Perhaps it was because it was Hermione’s face, but he couldn’t read her expression. ‘I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry if I did.’ 

‘That’s all right. Stay safe.’ 

‘You too.’ 

And then she was gone.

Ginny sighed heavily. ‘Reckon she’ll get through London all right? They really are pulling out all the stops for you to find her. No one can apparate in or out of Diagon Alley, they’ve stormed her flat-’ 

‘That’s all right, she’s going Muggle all the way, she’ll be fine,’ said Harry. ‘And Robards knows, so as long as… If she does get caught… As long as whoever it is only stuns her, we’ll sort something out.’ 

James had started crying, his little arms flailing, and Ginny gave a cursory glance to the door before starting to feed him. After a few quiet, blissful moments, she looked back up at him. ‘She’s right though. If you had died, how would I have ever explained that to our son? Yes, daddy died during some hare-brained scheme to provide a cover, oh, and mummy insisted we go and watch to make sure it worked?’

‘Hey,’ said Harry, frowning. ‘That bit was your idea, I said from the start-’

‘I know it was, but it all felt so different actually seeing it,’ she said, looking queasy. ‘I really thought for a second, oh, god, we got this completely wrong, there won’t be enough time to get him to the hospital and he’ll bleed out on the-’

‘I wasn’t going to die,’ he said easily. ‘The only thing I was at risk of was a sore throat. We practiced loads and had you and Robards in the know, with a couple of fail safes to boot. That’s the only thing I’m worried about to be honest, that it wasn’t convincing enough. There were too many people around to help me, it would have been more effective to just curse me, or do it as soon as she saw me, or, you know, creep up on me when I’m alone or something. I’m not sure whether it rings true.’ 

‘Well it was certainly vivid enough,’ said Ginny in a strained voice. ‘Mum will be in tears when those photos are published.’ 

He couldn’t take her hand, as she was still holding onto their child, but he reached out and touched her arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I did say you should stay at home - Robards had it in hand.’ 

She gave him a weak smile. ‘I’m all right. I knew you’d be ok. You always are.’

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Theia hurried through London, trying at once to be as quick as possible but to also avoid raising suspicion. Apparating away to drink her polyjuice potion had been easy enough, but the wireless had already broken the news - everyone was on the alert. No doubt pictures of her face were being distributed right now. Harry had been right - the only reason she’d been able to slip through to St Mungos was because Hermione was so recognisable as his friend, the Healers were so used to her, they didn’t even question it... 

She hurried down the grotty steps of the tube station, tapping through easily with her oyster card, squeezing through the busy throng of people and onto the escalators. 

What had scared her the most was how much she had enjoyed it. She’d expected more pressure, but the knife had slipped in easily, with just the perfect amount of resistance to make it… well, satisfying. Like biting into something. She’d expected to feel afraid or queasy at all the blood, but she did not expect it to be so warm. 

She elbowed her way onto the tube, and by some miracle got a seat. Naturally everyone on the tube was silent, but it was far from peaceful. She felt herself sway as the train rattled through the tunnels, deep underground, the roar and screech of it filling her ears. 

It was time now. Nearly two years of visiting that hellish prison, two years of staring into the face of the man who had destroyed her and pretending she could see his point, a year of practicing and planning and piecing together snippets. 

They had worried that the Loney case would ruin it. That her time away from visits would un-do all that hard work. But then absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Dennis had been so relieved to have her back that he had gullibly swallowed up everything she had told him. 

‘Go to Prague,’ he’d said. ‘You can make contact with them there.’ 

Harry had still been on paternity leave, so she had gone to his house, and waited patiently while he and Ginny had beamed and smiled and made her hold the tiny baby, despite her worries that she would probably drop it, and she had listened to him blather on for ages about how wonderful James was, a complete reversal of their usual roles, him talking obliviously while her mind wandered elsewhere. 

Eventually, when Ginny took the baby into another room to feed him, Theia had hesitantly turned to Harry and said, ‘I think we might be ready… when you return… to begin the operation against the extremist group Dennis had links to.’ 

He had paused from rearranging the blankets in the moses basket and stared at her. ‘He spilled the beans then?’ he asked. 

‘Yes. There’s a meeting place in Prague to get in contact. A certain bar...’ 

‘Prague,’ he said with mild surprise. ‘Well… We’d better get you out there.’ 

‘We’ll have to send someone else,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Someone unknown. We don’t know how long it will take - how would we be able to keep taking polyjuice if it goes on for months? We wouldn’t exactly be able to take a cauldron with us, and there’s no way I can smuggle out huge vats of the stuff-’

‘No,’ he said carefully. ‘And we’d then have to create a believable back story too.’ He moved forward and sat on the wooden coffee table, leaning close to her. ‘I think,’ he said in a low voice, ‘it would be more convincing if you were yourself.’ 

‘Myself?’ 

‘As you have been doing with Dennis.’ 

Her shoulders sank, her head rolled back in despair, and she turned away from him with a cry of frustration. ‘No, I can’t - I can’t keep that up, I can’t keep pretending that was ok-’

‘Then change it slightly,’ he urged. ‘Dennis won’t be able to be explicit in any letters from Azkaban, we can twist things - you can shift them away from-’

‘I’m not using mum like this, not anymore-’ she insisted. ‘And they would never believe me anyway, what are the chances of them being as gullible and damaged as him?’ 

‘They wouldn’t believe you now, no,’ he said calmly. ‘But they would if you made a big enough scene. Something convincing enough. Something that showed you were really allied with them, and not with me or the Ministry. Something you couldn’t go back from… We’d have to really trust each other though.’

And so that was how she found herself now, disguised as another woman, staring at her warped reflection in the dark window of the tube, on the run from people who just hours ago had believed her to be a colleague and a good person. 

She realised that tears were crawling down her cheeks, and she blinked them back, taking a steadying breath. If she had got it wrong, if she’d missed the target… But she could still hear Harry’s voice in her head - you didn’t miss the target. It didn’t go wrong. It just felt wrong, because of course it did. 

It had been a long time since she had been in an airport, and of course back then it had been with her mother, on their way to some half-term break to Greece. So when she finally arrived at the terminal, she stood in the entrance a little cluelessly, staring at her boarding pass and wandering around until she found the right desk. 

She slid the red passport over, and suddenly panicked - she had not thought to memorise Hermione’s birthday or location of birth or anything like that. But the muggle gave it a lazy glance, and tapped into her computer, and directed Theia on her way. 

Getting through security was easy enough. Some nifty little enchantment had been put on her bottle of polyjuice so the muggles wouldn’t spot it - there was enough to last the flight. She had discarded the knife, so it wasn’t like she had anything dangerous or forbidden at all. She let the bored looking muggle run his scanner over her, let him pat down her clothes, and then put her shoes back on. 

Then she had two hours to sit in duty free. It didn’t feel like being on the run, she thought as she ordered a bellini at an overpriced bar. No doubt the wizarding world was frantic now.

A man further down the bar stared at her in bewilderment as she spluttered into laughter, apparently over nothing.

She had just stabbed Harry Potter. She had attempted to assassinate the most famous living wizard in the world. Her. Theia Higglesworth from some shit estate in Poplar. She had nearly killed the Boy Who Lived. She hadn’t come quite as close as Voldemort, but she still reckoned it was a decent attempt. 

She felt herself grow a little taller in her seat, and she took an unpleasant swig from her potion, chasing it down with the cocktail. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Robards visited him next, and although he was fully aware of Harry’s “stupid” plan, he was with a gaggle of other aurors all taking detailed notes, so they were forced to keep up the charade.

‘We argued recently,’ Harry told him. 

‘About?’ 

‘Loads of stuff. Obliviating that muggle. Me taking too much paternity leave. I think she always blamed me for her mother’s death a bit as well.’ He looked at Ginny, who nodded sympathetically. 

‘You were wondering recently, weren’t you Harry? About whether she was prejudiced?’ 

‘Yeah, that too,’ said Harry. ‘We were… It’s embarrassing to admit now, we were trying to set her up with that muggle, and she said a few things that I thought were… Well, prejudiced.’ 

‘You think she could have been a Death Eater sympathiser?’ asked Proudfoot. 

‘Dunno,’ said Harry, trying his best to look shell shocked. ‘Maybe? Whatever it is, she doesn’t like me, does she?’ 

‘But you didn’t expect her to attack you?’ 

‘Of course not. I thought, you know, she was just letting the job get to her a bit.’ 

‘I have told you before,’ said Dawlish pompously, ‘that you treated her as a fully fledged auror from the start, and that you should have reminded yourself of her trainee status-’

‘I would have done, but I was too busy getting work done,’ Harry snapped. 

‘All right,’ said Robards loudly. ‘Look, Potter, we’re on the hunt, all right? You and your family are the nation’s sweethearts at the moment, so anyone sheltering her will dob her in soon enough.’ 

‘We’ve checked her flat, her mum’s old place, friends houses, and so on,’ said Proudfoot. ‘Nothing so far, but we’re still making enquiries.’ 

‘Don’t you think she might be a bit of a flight risk?’ Ginny asked. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t hang around if it were me.’

‘All the international portkey keepers have been notified,’ said Matt eagerly. ‘The station guards at Kings Cross are aware too, and we have patrols along the most common flight routes across the channel-’

‘What about muggle methods?’ asked Harry, checking the clock out of the corner of his eye. 

‘Muggle methods? Would she even know how?’ asked Dawlish. 

‘Of course she would, her mum was a bloody muggle,’ said Harry impatiently. ‘She’s probably got a passport, or can fake one easy enough. Have you checked the airports at all? St Pancras? Ferry crossings?’ 

There was silence. ‘Well?’ demanded Robards, looking around at his staff. ‘I’d hop on it if I were you, lads.’ 

The aurors darted from the room, leaving Robards alone with the Potters. He flicked his wand at the door, which closed, and took a step closer to them. ‘Well, you pulled it off,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t know if you’re stupid, naive or just bloody lucky.’ 

‘I wouldn’t have had my wife and son in the audience if I thought there was any risk,’ said Harry quietly. 

‘Or was it insurance?’ Robards asked. ‘Maybe you didn’t trust her completely? Wanted to make sure she’d feel nice and guilty if anything did go wrong?’ 

Harry stared at him sullenly. ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he said, his fingers curling into fists.

‘All right,’ said Robards. He glanced over his shoulder. ‘You sure you want me to send them to the airport?’ 

‘She’s polyjuiced, and her flight will leave in ten minutes,’ said Harry. ‘I think we’re good.’ 

‘If you say so,’ said Robards. ‘You’ll be all right for work tomorrow?’ 

‘Yeah. I’m going to discharge myself once you’re gone.’ 

Robards nodded at him, and then looked at Ginny. ‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Potter, nice theatrics. You never considered being an auror?’ 

‘Harry’s the masochist, not me,’ she replied. Robards winked at her, and ambled out of the door.

Just twenty miles away, Theia Higglesworth was settling into a narrow seat on an airplane, ready to meet the group that had brainwashed Dennis.


	3. Chapter Two: Dva Draci

It was night by the time she had reached the centre of the city. The chocolate-box buildings in pastel hues and terracotta-red roofs were illuminated in warm yellow lamps, the cobbled roads rattled with trams and hummed with the passing throngs of tourists.

The bag was beginning to ache on her shoulder, but she walked with purpose along the dark Vlatava river, still except for the white froth breaking over the weir, quickly returning to a still black which reflected Prague castle, high on its hill overlooking the city. She turned a corner and the shadowy statues of the Charles Bridge loomed above her. Moving away from the crowd, she found the stone steps Dennis had told her about, hidden to muggles, and she descended them to find herself staring up at the great underside of the bridge’s arches, the noise of the city sinking away to the echoing drip of water. 

There, at the base of the bridge, was a small rusted gate. She swallowed. She was exhausted. She had been travelling for hours and been unable to sleep. Her mind was leaping wildly from thought to thought. She didn’t know what to expect on the other side. 

She stepped forward, and pushed on the damp metal bars. The gate glowed gold, and swung open. 

She walked into the darkness, down a narrow tunnel, the cobwebbed walls and domed ceiling lit by flaming torches, so low that even she, a short woman, felt as though she should duck her head. Suddenly the tunnel turned a sharp corner and opened up onto a vast cavern, hewn from the grey limestone the city was built upon. It was packed with stalls and bars and echoed with laughter and shouts from a crowd of witches and wizards, haggling over the trinkets and ingredients on the stalls, or gesticulating wildly in some friendly bar arguments, drinking beer from huge glass steins, dancing to a band with fiddles and accordions. 

They paid Theia little notice, but as she walked through them she saw a pile of newspapers with a headline screaming something in a language she didn’t recognise. 

There she was, on the front cover. Harry dropping to his knees before her covered in blood. She stared at it for a few moments, watched the angry arch of her fist and the glint of the knife, the blood, horrifying even in black and white, Harry crumpling to the floor. She felt queasy, and the adrenaline was back - they hadn’t thought news would travel quite this fast. What if she was recognised? 

She pulled up her hood; at least a few others in the cavern also had their hoods up, so hopefully it didn’t seem unusual. She moved away from the newspaper stall, pushing her way through the happy crowd, looking up at the wooden signs that hung from the ceiling. Bizarrely, she worried that she smelled - she had been stuck on the plane for hours after all - and she noticed, even in the dim light, that her nails still had dried blood under them. 

She saw the sign, two black and white dragons entwined, and underneath in gold letters, ‘Dva Draci’. She hurried towards it, and underneath was a large circular bar, surrounded by standing tables. 

She stood at the bar, feeling distinctly out of place with the laughing crowd around her, until a barman with an ornate moustache ambled up to her. ‘Ahoy,’ he said. ‘Co byste si prála?’ 

‘Nemluvím česky,’ replied Theia, desperately hoping she had the pronunciation correct. ‘Do you speak English?’ 

‘Yes,’ the man said briskly. 

‘A friend sent me here,’ she said. ‘For safety. He said to ask for a port in a storm.’ 

He stared at her for a long time, and she stared back, for she could think of nothing else to do. Then he glanced down, and she realised that a newspaper was lying on the bar, and her angry face was right there, on the front page. ‘For safety?’ he asked, and it took her a moment to understand his accent. ‘England is very safe now.’ 

‘Not for me,’ she said. 

He stared at her for a little longer, his small black eyes running over her face, and then he called over his shoulder. ‘Emil,’ he said. Another man appeared - younger, thinner, with steely blue eyes and a scruffy blond beard over his pointed chin. The moustached man spoke in rapid Czech to him, and then Emil picked up the newpaper. 

‘Ano,’ he said quietly, and then he looked at Theia. ‘You are this girl?’ 

‘I am,’ she said. ‘Please… I can explain it.’ 

‘Are you tired?’ he asked suddenly, in his thick accent. 

‘Exhausted.’ 

‘Come with me.’ He slapped the bar, and part of it swung up to create a space for her to walk through. She did so as he opened up a huge trapdoor, and gestured for her to go first, still holding the paper. She looked at him doubtfully, her hand gripping her wand in his pocket. 

‘Please,’ he said, bowing his head slightly. 

Feeling as though this was very stupid, she went down the steps, and found herself in a low, wood-paneled circular room, as though she were on some kind of ship. From it were many doors, and in the middle a battered square table sat on a threadbare rug. The chairs had not been tucked in properly. Emil followed her down, closing the trapdoor behind him. 

‘So you tried to kill Harry Potter,’ he said conversationally. 

‘Tried?’ she asked. ‘I-’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘He survived. They rush out the evening press to talk about it. He was taken to the hospital and is expected to make a full recovery.’ 

The next part wasn’t difficult at all. She was so exhausted, so hungry, so emotionally wrecked, that it took very little for her to drop the bag, slump into the nearest chair and sob violently. ‘No,’ she said, gasping. ‘No, I… He should have…’ 

‘You must have missed,’ said Emil. He was looking strangely at her, and quite suddenly he left through one of the doors. 

Worried that he could somehow still see her, Theia gripped her head in her hands and leaned on her knees, rocking slightly as she cried. Emil returned after less than a minute, carrying a tray. On it, was a huge glass stein of beer, and a large, round loaf of bread, filled with some kind of meaty stew. 

Theia didn’t need to be asked - she was so ravenously hungry that she began eating almost as soon as he put the tray down wiping her tears away between bites. 

‘Why did you come here?’ Emil asked. ‘We like Harry Potter here.’ 

‘The whole fucking world likes Harry Potter,’ she muttered, grabbing the stein. 

‘But why here?’ 

She drank deeply - she hated beer, but she suspected it contained veritaserum, or perhaps he was just hoping to get her drunk. Either way, she was prepared - she and Harry had discussed at length the ways to trick that unreliable potion. ‘A friend told me about this place. Said it sheltered him.’ 

‘One of the war refugees?’ asked Emil. ‘Many passed through our bar. We had an illegal portkey link. Again, surely not the place to come to if you hate Harry Potter.’ 

She looked suspiciously up at him. ‘Are you sheltering me or just feeding me before you hand me over to whatever authorities there are in this country?’ 

‘I don’t know yet,’ said Emil, and his beard quivered as he smiled slightly. ‘Which friend?’ he asked, slowly and firmly. 

She looked back down at her stew. She could almost hear Harry’s voice in her head. Trick the potion by telling the truth, find those loopholes, and if you must lie, make yourself believe it. ‘Dennis Creevey.’ 

‘Hmm,’ said Emil, as he continued to watch her eat. ‘Yes, I have read about him in the paper too.’ 

‘They don’t know what happened, they’ve got it all wrong,’ she said, in the coldest voice she could manage. 

‘I expect they have,’ said Emil calmly, and then he said nothing as she ate. 

‘How did he survive?’ she asked, hoping to prompt him into more conversation. ‘How the fuck-?’

‘As I said, you must have missed,’ he said, looking down at the newspaper. ‘Stabbing is such a gamble - you didn’t want to use a more certain method?’ 

She shrugged. ‘He’s survived that before, hasn’t he?’ 

Emil chuckled. ‘This is true.’ 

The stew was nearly all gone, she started to tear at the bread, chewing it furiously. ‘He’s not what everyone thinks,’ she said. ‘He’s not what I thought he was. The war isn’t over.’ 

‘And you thought killing the Boy Who Lived would help?’ 

She felt the urge to tell the truth, but thought very hard about her story. ‘I just had to do something.’ 

Emil studied her closely, his long fingers drumming the table. ‘Sleep here tonight,’ he said. ‘I must speak to someone. Tomorrow… He may want to speak to you too. We shall see.’ 

The bar seemingly also served as an inn - he showed here into a little room with a simple wooden bed and dresser, a dusty mirror on one wall. ‘The bathroom is two doors down,’ he told her. ‘But please do not wander elsewhere.’ 

She dumped her bag on the end of the bed, and seized the greying towel on top of the dresser. She was about to leave - she had her hand on the doorknob, when she paused and looked back at her zipped up bag. She reached up and plucked one strand of her mousy brown hair from her head, and carefully placed it in the zipper, pulling the toggle up slowly over it so that it wouldn’t break. Satisfied it would stay, she picked up the towel again and left the room.

She could just about hear the noise of the cavern from the circular hall, occasional snatches of laughter and a low rumble of music sounding through the trapdoor. She tried one of the other doors, sure that she could get away with playing dumb if she was caught somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be, but they were all other hostel-like bedrooms, except for the door through to a steel kitchen and the bathroom. 

Like her room, the bathroom was simple and slightly grotty, but the water was warm. There must have been more of Harry’s blood on her than she realised, perhaps in her hair, for she watched it swirl around the plughole, vivid red against the ceramic. Nobody had noticed on the plane, apparently, or perhaps they had been too afraid or polite to mention it. Or maybe it hadn’t shown up while she was polyjuiced? She had no idea, she just watched it swirl, and thought vaguely about just how much of it there had been, how quickly it had gushed out of him. 

She brushed her teeth, too, she hadn’t realised how much she had wanted to, and wondered who Emil was going to talk to. Perhaps it was the man Dennis had told her about. Ludovit. 

He had seemed awed when he spoke the name, the same sort of expression people usually got when they were around Harry. ‘How can I meet him?’ she’d asked. 

‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘He will decide if he is to meet you.’

She returned to her room, her damp hair in straggles over one shoulder, and leaned over her bag, staring closely at the zip. The hair she had left was gone. While she had been in the bathroom, someone had looked through the bag. 

She unzipped it, and, yes, she thought someone had definitely rifled through it. They’d done a fairly good job of returning everything to its rightful place, she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been specifically looking, but there was something slightly off about it all. She pulled out an old t-shirt and leggings to sleep in, and rifled through her make-up bag. 

The compact mirror was still there - it clearly hadn’t raised an suspicions. She wanted to open it and try it now, assure Harry that she had arrived safe and sound, but she felt a prickle of paranoia at the back of her neck. She looked over at the dusty mirror on the wall, and thought instantly of old police shows her mother used to watch, with people watching suspects through clever one way mirrors. 

She went over to it, and pulled the chipped wooden frame off the wall slightly. It was just dark paneled wood behind, but she still felt afraid. She was holding a magical mirror herself, after all, the fact that it wasn’t like Muggle technology meant nothing. They could still be watching her. 

Or listening. 

She checked every spare inch of the room she could think of, looking for that red blob of a bugging charm she herself had used in a potions shop all those years ago in Diagon Alley. Every inch of the wall, the underside of the bed, under the mattress, in all the drawers and behind the dresser, the back of the mirror - but nothing. 

It’s just the first stage, she told herself. Supposedly hundreds of muggleborns and squibs and political enemies had come through this bar. They couldn’t have spied on them all, and it was natural they would want to keep an eye on her, she hadn’t exactly come in normal circumstances. She would probably have gone through her bag too. 

She got into the creaky, uncomfortable bed, and pulled the scratchy blankets over her head. She assumed, the way her mind was racing, that she would be awake all night. But within minutes her eyelids were drooping, her limbs sinking with heaviness, finally realising just how tired she was. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A squat, rosy-cheeked witch in a grubby apron woke her the next morning, saying something in Czech and planting a tray firmly on her lap. A glass of orange juice and a mug of coffee, with a basket of bread rolls and a plate of hams, salami and cheese. 

‘Mysleli si, že to budete chtít,’ said the witch brusquely, adding a newspaper to the tray. To her great surprise, it was a copy of the Daily Prophet, from which her face glared up at her from the front page, beside a photo of Ginny clutching James, screaming as she kneeled by Harry. 

‘Thank you- er, I mean, děkuji-’ babbled Theia, but the witch was already bustling out. Theia heard the door lock behind her. 

She took a sip of the coffee and began to tear up her bread as she read the newspaper. 

_HUNT ON FOR HATEFUL HIGGLESWORTH_

_The would-be assassinator of the Chosen One is still on the run and is thought to have fled abroad, according to senior sources from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

_Ministry officials last night confirmed Harry Potter’s discharge from St Mungo’s, claiming that he is safely at home with his family and expects to be back at work within the week. However, his long time mentee and recent attacker, Theia Higglesworth is yet to be traced, with accusations of crucial failings from the Ministry in securing the atrium where the qualification ceremony took place running wild._

_‘Nobody should have been able to apparate in or out of that room,’ stated John Dawlish, Senior Auror and concerned colleague of Mr Potter. ‘It astounds me that nobody considered this basic security protocol, one that is usually the first on the list to establish for any major event.’_

She rolled her eyes as she nibbled on a triangle of hard cheese. ‘Fucking thanks, Dawlish,’ she muttered under her breath. 

_Theories on why Higglesworth attacked the nation’s hero are still ‘to be established’, reports Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror department, but are likely to be ‘involving a great personal trauma to Higglesworth and her misguided belief that Potter was to blame’, as well as ‘potential extremist ideologies and radicalisation’._

_On Mr Potter’s response to the event, Mr Robards stated that he had spoken with the family and said that they were ‘shaken and shocked’ but had ‘thankfully had a lucky escape’._

_‘Mr Potter is naturally keen to take the lead on locating Theia Higglesworth and bringing her to justice,’ he continued. ‘I am proud that he has accepted my suggestion to act as the senior investigating officer on this case, in what is sure to be a personal and difficult experience for him, but ultimately satisfying when he succeeds, which I have every confidence he will do.’_

_Mr Potter did not respond to calls for comment as he returned home with his wife and son late last night._

She sighed heavily, and looked back at the photo. Ginny was a good actress, but she wasn’t sure the look of terror was entirely fake. She had been right though, the fact that she was clutching their baby as well… No doubt the nation was weeping. 

She turned the paper over, having no desire to look at the photograph anymore, and picked at the rest of her breakfast. 

She wanted to go and shower again, or at least brush her teeth, but though she thought that she could probably open the door with a simple alohamora the fact that the witch had locked it meant that they wanted her to stay in there. 

So, she changed into fresh clothes from her bag, moved the tray to sit on top of the dresser, and paced the room uneasily. Could she risk speaking into the compact mirror? She so desperately wanted to check that they really were all right. 

But no, it seemed stupid. She didn’t have anything to report yet, it wasn’t worth risking everything just to settle her nerves. Naturally she would be being watched closely right now. Her breathing was starting to become rapid, the nerves creeping into panic. She sat on the bed, and tried to calm herself, her knee bouncing rapidly. She closed her eyes, and took a long, slow breath. They were fine. She knew they were fine. That was why she had gone to St Mungo’s. Even the Daily Prophet, who surely would have been delighted to report that he was on his deathbed and his wife and child were traumatised for life, had gone out of its way to mention that they were back home. 

There was a quiet knock at the door, and she heard the lock shift. Emil stepped through, smiling mildly at her. ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Did you sleep well?’ 

She nodded. He strode across the room to lean against the dresser opposite her, glancing down at the paper. ‘Thank you for that,’ she said abruptly. ‘I didn’t think you could get it here.’ 

‘We can get anything we want here,’ he said smoothly. ‘What did you think of it? Are they right?’ 

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly as she took a breath. ‘I… I suppose so,’ she said cautiously. ‘They don’t know the full story, obviously.’ 

‘Of course,’ he said graciously. ‘But you know, neither do I. You may be disappointed with the great Harry Potter, but this,’ he said, tapping the image of Ginny screaming over her husband, ‘this is quite brutal, no?’ 

Theia looked down at her feet. ‘I didn’t know they would be there.’

‘But you didn’t stop when you knew they were,’ said Emil. ‘You must have seen them.’ Theia said nothing, just let Emil read what he wanted in her silence, and at last he put the paper down and continued. ‘I don’t know what your friend told you about our network. It is not a terror cell, or a group that hides fugitives.’ 

‘Yes it is,’ she said. ‘You hid many fugitives during the war, you told me so yourself.’ 

His beard twitched as he smiled. ‘Ah yes, but they were honourable fugitives. Escaping an evil tyrant.’ He tilted his head. ‘Say what you want of Harry Potter, I’m not sure you can describe him as a tyrant.’ 

‘No,’ admitted Theia. ‘But I don’t want any tyrants in the future, and he was preventing that.’ She paused again, looking away in deep thought. ‘Sometimes a great shock… A moment of symbolism… I thought… or rather, I hoped… Harry’s death might start something.’

Emil nodded slowly. ‘You have put us in a difficult position, Miss Higglesworth.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But you have hid me for this long.’ 

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And I have spoken to others in the network. We are agreed that - for now - we can take you to a place of safety. Others will want to talk to you, but we are agreed that you will not receive a fair trial in England.’ 

‘Thank you.’ 

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small bottle. ‘Use this,’ he said. ‘Even here Harry Potter is a beloved man, and you will need to be hidden. Then you must gather your things, and we will go at once. People may have recognised you last night.’ 

She took the small bottle, expecting it to be polyjuice potion, but blinked down in surprise as she looked at the image of the laughing woman on the front. It was blonde hair dye.


	4. Quirnius

Harry's return to work had not catapulted him back into the action, but into a meeting with the senior aurors that was dragging itself into its third hour, Dawlish's droning voice having dominated the better half of it. 

'Auror Potter,' said Dawlish pompously. 'Would you like to pick up the leadership of this project?'

'Not really,' said Harry bluntly. 'Quite frankly I'm losing the will to live. Can't we get one of the researchers to do this?' 

'I agree,' said Williamson quickly, who Harry had spotted jerking his head as though on the verge of falling asleep several times. 

Dawlish blustered irritably. 'A study into whether the killing curse affects decomposition rates is vital for our understanding! It could significantly assist cold case work, and I thought you of all people would be interested!' 

'Why?' asked Harry sharply. 

'Well, you're the only one who's actually got history of having been-'

'Didn't decompose, did I?' He tapped the end of his quill irritably against his pad of parchment. 'Seems to me this is the sort of thing Bessie does, isn't it? Could be a nice project for her team down in the morgue. I don't think it comes under-'

'I just thought, given your recent injury,' said Dawlish, in an infuriatingly patient voice - the kind Harry used when Teddy was having a meltdown, 'that you may appreciate some desk work.'

'No, thank you,' said Harry, the forced cheeriness in his voice causing several barely-disguised smiles around the table. 'I appreciate your concern but I've done my stretch of bed rest.' 

'I wasn't sure if your feelings would be hurt,' said Dawlish, with a sly smirk. 

Harry gazed witheringly at him for a moment. Having to pretend he was embarrassed and hurt by Theia's betrayal was made a thousand times more annoying when he had to do it in front of Dawlish. 'My feelings are fine,' he said coldly. 

'Even so, while we assign you a new partner, perhaps it's best you went on a secondment to the morgue to help with this project,' said Dawlish. 

Forget a knife, the tension around the table was so thick it might have needed a severing charm to it. Harry stared back at Dawlish's smug punchable face and then gave a curt nod. 'Fine. I can't wait to get stuck into my secondment. Sounds like it'll be a blast.' 

Naturally the second the meeting was over, Harry stormed straight to Robard's office, managing to restrain himself from slamming the door closed behind him. Robards barely looked up from his desk. 

'I know Dawlish is still technically my senior,' said Harry, testily, 'but he just put me on a secondment to Bessie's team.' 

'I know he did,' said Robards. 'I planted the idea in his head.' 

Harry looked up at the ceiling and counted in his head for a few moments, before looking back down at Robards. 'Why?' he asked pointedly. 'I realise we have to play into the whole me being in the doghouse for not noticing my partner had become radicalised thing, but I think sending me to the morgue is a bit much.' 

'Thought you'd be pleased,' growled Robards with a shrug. 'Makes it easier for you to have some quiet to pick up the mirror when she calls.' His eyes flicked up to Harry, unreadable. 'Has she called?' 

'Not yet,' said Harry, shifting uncomfortably. 'I'm sure it's fine, she might just be being watched.' 

Robards merely grunted. 

Harry looked irritably down at his feet. 'It would be easier to get away with talking on the mirror down there,' he admitted. 'But I would still prefer to be doing some fieldwork. I need to be seen to be continuing doing my job-'

'You can't until I've found you a new partner anyway,' said Robards. 'And seeing as you and Higglesworth think she won't need long undercover, I don't see the point faffing about with new assignments if she's just going to come back in a couple of weeks anyway. Besides,' he added grumpily, 'I don't like putting new parents out in the field, it feels like tempting fate.' 

'But me being stabbed in the neck was fine?' 

'That was your own stupid idea,' Robards said dismissively. 'Keeping you out of sight for a while makes sense, giving you boring projects means you can dedicate time to this one without arousing suspicion.' 

This was true, and Harry wondered whether he would feel so resentful about the whole idea of hiding out in the morgue for a while if it hadn't been delivered via Dawlish. 

'Don't worry,' huffed Robards, looking with exasperation at Harry's sour face, 'you'll get to go back to doing stupid stuff when Higglesworth's back.' He eyed him carefully. 'But consider the advantage to your career proving your worth at the more mundane duties would be.' 

'Sorry?' asked Harry, flummoxed. 

'Someone like Proudfoot - has only ever picked up cases and projects that lets him get into a good scrap, has always shirked any kind of management or development - he'll never progress. Completely his own design - he's got no kids, no partner, all his friends are in the team. He just wants to be an auror and that's it. You'll want to balance it all out.' 

'I-'

'Prefer field work now,' said Robards firmly. 'But I bet you're getting tired of going in and out of St Mungos, aren't you? Thinking about your son?' 

Harry said nothing. His promotion out of junior auror over a year ago had caused ripples enough in the department thanks to his young age, but he couldn't deny that the changes and reforms he had been able to make so far had sparked an ambition inside him he hadn't been aware he had... Not to mention, yes. It was nice being able to come home before his son's bedtime... Robards raised his eyebrows and tilted his head in satisfaction. 'Get yourself down to the morgue. Have fun,' he added sarcastically. 

Harry did so, firmly ignoring Dawlish's stupid smug face as he gathered his things and stalked out of his office towards the lifts. Finding himself in there alone, he checked the little square mirror he had got back off Aberforth. His own reflection frowned back out at him. He sighed and tucked it back into his inside pocket as the lift juddered and groaned. Theia would have arrived in Prague three days ago, if all had gone well. 

The morgue was down at the end of a very long, white corridor that sloped down slightly. It always seemed to Harry that the quiet of it, just the sound of his echoing footsteps and the increasingly chilly air, seemed perfectly designed to stick in visitors' minds, a little theatrical flourish to the trauma they so often faced coming down here to identify a body or say a goodbye. Personally, he had long since acclimatised to it, though he wasn't particularly looking forward to being down here permanently. 

He opened the door to see steely grey shining and tables cluttered with parchment and vials. At the sound of him entering, Bessie suddenly appeared around a corner, wheeling back on her chair to look at him. 

Harry dumped his bag on the counter and smiled wryly at her. 'I'm on secondment with you, apparently,' he said. 

She raised her eyebrows. 'Flippin' heck, what did you do, pet?' 

'Didn't notice my partner wanted to kill me.' 

'Whey aye, that will bother them, like,' she said, looking rather amused. 'Scrub up, then, and come and meet the team.' 

All things considered, Harry thought, as he met two spluttering, star-struck researchers and was given a very thick apron to wear, at least he was working with someone he got on with again.

***

It surprised Theia that they did not use magic to travel, but instead boarded one of the rattling, swaying trams that snaked through the city. Emil said nothing to her - there was no explanation of where they were going or why they were travelling this way. The tram took them away from the river, swaying through the pastel coloured buildings and snaking up to higher ground. Every now and then it would stop, and a cool, Czech voice would announce the name of a street or place, but Theia would look to Emil who continued to stare stoically ahead. 

When he did finally speak, it took her by such surprise that she jumped. 'Have you been in Prague before?' 

'No,' she said. 

'Where have you been before?' he asked, his accent thick. 'Not England.' 

'Er...' She felt a little speechless. She blinked. 'My mum always liked to go to Spain during the holidays.' 

'I like Spain,' he mused. 'Good pace of life.' 

She nodded, feeling slightly paranoid, unsure whether or not he was making polite conversation with her or trying to find something out. 

Finally they came to a stop, and Emil rose, disembarking the tram as though Theia wasn’t there. She hurried after him, the strap of her bag cutting into her shoulder. He led her up a steep road, climbing higher and higher above the red terracotta roofs of the city, leaving her panting and sweating. 

Finally, they reached a small outlook, alongside a rough, very old looking wall. Emil leaned against it, and studied her carefully. ‘Before we go further, I must ask for your wand.’ 

He said it so calmly, so matter of factly, that Theia gave a sort of breathless chuckle in response. But when he continued to smile politely at her, she shifted uneasily. ‘I’d… I would really rather-’

‘It is a security measure,’ he said. ‘My boss is an important man, and you are a fugitive, possibly dangerous.’

‘I…’ she gave another breathless laugh, her hand twitching to grip the handle of her wand. ‘Yes, exactly, I’m a fugitive, I’m vulnerable enough as it is-’

‘That is his condition for meeting you,’ said Emil. ‘It will be returned to you, when he knows you are someone he can trust.’ 

Theia’s heart thudded, her hand gripping her wand tightly. She could almost feel it trembling beneath her palm. She swallowed. ‘Don’t suppose I have a choice, do I?’ she said lightly. 

His lips twitched. ‘If it makes you feel better, I did the same when I met him. As did your friend Dennis. We got our wands back in time.’ 

It was very important, Theia knew, that she was trusted. 

She nodded, a tiny, shivering sort of nod, and, with a lurch that made her feel as though she were making a terrible mistake, held out her wand. She could only imagine Harry’s aghast face. 

Emil took it from her gently, with an understanding smile. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You will meet him now.’ He took a step forward, and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, surveying her closely. ‘He likes the people around him to be charming,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t be frightened.’ 

‘I’m not,’ she said quietly. 

He smiled again, warmly, and nodded. ‘This way, then,’ he said. He leaned forward, and whispered a secret in her ear. 

***

Quirnius had wanted to meet Harry Potter many times before. The boy, and later the man, came up as a topic of conversation in the International Confederation of Wizards on a regular basis, and there was something so deliciously intriguing about him. There was a mystery there, and a vulnerability - this, he knew, made him attractive to women who felt that they could be protected by him, but that he might also have some hidden pain that they could fix with enough kind words and soft touches.

What, then, was he to make of the photograph on the newspaper in front of him? A slight young woman pulling him forward and stabbing him with a perfect fury, her face like a tempest of rage, his freezing in carved, handsome shock. 

And what was he to make of that same young woman, standing before him now? Her large eyes flicked around his study, examining the exquisite house clinging to the side of the steep hill she had not seen until Emil gave her the secret, taking in the floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the city. 

She seemed nervous, and that was reasonable; it was what she was nervous about, specifically, that concerned him. 

‘It’s supremely arrogant of me to say this,’ he said, relaxed in his leather chair, ‘but do you know who I am?’ 

She looked at him directly. She was a pretty enough young thing, could be better, but there was a spark there that made him think she could be good conversation - that there might be a quick wit. She could be interesting, and that was what he wanted. He couldn’t abide boring people. 

‘I’m not sure,’ she confessed. ‘A friend sent me, but he wouldn’t tell me your name.’ 

‘Oh good man,’ he said jovially. ‘Dennis, Emil tells me?’ 

From the door, Emil gave a curt nod. Theia Higglesworth said nothing. 

‘Yes, it was a shame how all that turned out,’ he said. He watched her carefully. Still she said nothing. His lips quivered into a smile. ‘Please,’ he said, gesturing to the leather sofa, ‘sit.’ 

‘You still haven’t told me your name,’ she said. 

Cheeky of her, he thought, when he was the one holding the cards. ‘Quirnius Faucher,’ he said. ‘I must confess to being rather disappointed you haven’t heard of me - I’ve heard of you.’ He raised the paper, and waved it slightly. 

Her face flashed with surprise, and discomfort, and he chuckled and threw it back down onto the glass coffee table. ‘Please,’ he said again, ‘sit. You are in a pickle, aren’t you? I want to hear all about it.’ 

She put down her heavy looking shoulder bag and went over to the sofa, her gaze fixed upon him the whole time. They stared at each other for a few moments - Emil hurried forward and took her bag, and carried it out of the door. Quirnius thought it was perhaps a good sign that she didn’t look worried that he took it. 

‘I came here,’ she said, her voice quivering slightly, because I had nowhere else to go.’ 

‘Well, quite,’ he said casually. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigar, lighting it up as he glanced back down at the paper. ‘Nation’s sweetheart, isn’t he? You’ve ballsed up there.’ 

She did not chuckle with him. ‘Dennis… he tried…’ 

‘Dennis was trying to get Potter on side, not kill him,’ he said, holding his cigar lazily to the side. ‘It’s a shame he did it in that way.’ He smirked. ‘But I’m surprised - from what I read, he upset you too, didn’t he?’

She looked down. ‘Yes,’ she said coldly. ‘He can rot in that prison for all I care. I just…’ she sighed, looking down at her knees. 

He chuckled again, puffing on his cigar. ‘Golly,’ he said, amused. ‘All those visits to Azkaban with him - just using him to get to me, were you?’ 

Her head snapped up. ‘How did you know about that?’ 

‘There are certain advantages that come with being in the International Confederation of Wizards,’ he said. ‘I know a lot of things.’ 

She raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not a politics girl.’ 

‘I can tell, or you would have heard of me.’ 

She looked back down at the newspaper, and winced slightly. ‘Yes, I was just using Dennis. It was the only plan I could think of - I assumed whoever he was talking about hated Harry too, and thought whoever you were, you might be willing to-’

‘I don’t hate Harry Potter,’ he interrupted, mumbling round the cigar in the corner of his mouth. ‘I think he’s very interesting.’ 

She stared at him, bewildered. ‘But… but you helped Dennis-’

‘I did not. Well, no, I lie,’ he admitted, tilting his head to the side. ‘I helped him to a point, and sent him on his merry way with his fascinating little plan. I wasn’t to realise he would go so off track.’ 

She looked back down at her knees, her lips parted and her eyes wide. He laughed again. ‘Oh dear. Miscalculation?’ 

She looked up at him, her light blue eyes filled with fear. ‘Don’t send me back. I can’t go back-’

He hummed, rather enjoying himself. ‘I am very interested in how you can go from an enthusiastic trainee auror who cried and squealed with delight to be paired up with Harry Potter, to doing this-’ he nodded once again at the paper, ‘-just three years later.’

He had disconcerted her, he could tell. Her alarm at his casual, but accurate, mention of her reaction to those early days - surely so heady and intoxicating, wrapped in excitement and fantasy - had caused her jaw to tense, her lips pressed together. 

‘I… I became disillusioned-’ 

‘You fell in love with him, I think,’ he remarked. 

Her mouth opened, and then closed silently. She blinked rapidly. ‘I…’ She closed her eyes, and swallowed. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No, it wasn’t that. There was more. Stuff of more importance.’ 

‘Thank heavens,’ he said. ‘Unrequited love and scorned women - ten a knut. So dreary.’ Emil returned, and Quirnius clicked his fingers at him. ‘Get the brandy, would you, old boy? I want to hear about the great disillusionment of Harry Potter.’


	5. Acceptance

He had not been how Theia had expected. Dennis had seemed inspired and slightly scared by the mystery man that he had met, and in her mind she had imagined someone tall and intimidating looking, with dark eyes and a crackling aura of powerful magical talent. 

What she saw in Quirnius Faucher was a middle aged, slightly pot-bellied man, clean shaven, with ashy grey hair that was slightly thinning at the forehead. But he relaxed in his chair with the air of someone who had always been very sure of himself - someone who had known that he was better than others from the moment he started talking. Most wizards were stuck in time - their idea of finery hadn’t progressed beyond oil paintings and antiques - but the extraordinary house she found herself in was all glossy surfaces, steel and glass, abstract, modernist paintings with the sort of nudity that would have made her mother blush and gasp in outrage, huge windows that boasted the impressive view - the kind of view that you felt the house had been built around, rather than simply being a happy coincidence. 

Even his accent was strange - it had that mid-atlantic accent of someone who had grown up all over the place, at once rather upper class but with occasional American-sounding pronunciations. I am a man of the world, that accent said. My parents were either so important, so rich, or led such exciting lives (or all three) that I led a childhood you could only dream of. His clothes were modern in style too - he wore a well-fitting grey suit, but beneath it was a flamboyant and bright blue patterned shirt. 

What kind of a posh wanker lights up a cigar mid-conversation? she thought.

Emil poured her a brandy, and she pretended to take a sip first, worried that it might be laced with something. But Quirnius knocked his back without a second thought. ‘The problem I have, Theia,’ he said briskly, ‘is that I’m a man of considerable political influence and wealth and you’ve just shown up at my door asking me to help you get away with a pretty nasty crime.’ 

‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I just didn’t know-’

‘No, no,’ he said, sounding bored. ‘Don’t try the “I didn’t know where else to go” routine, you’ve been visiting Dennis for a very long time now, haven’t you? You specifically wanted to come here. You were specifically looking for me.’ 

‘I didn’t know who you were,’ she countered. ‘I still don’t, to be honest.’ 

‘Well I’m not a Death Eater,’ he said, with an odd little laugh. ‘I’m not the natural choice of an enemy of Harry Potter. And don’t tell me Dennis killed your mother and you decided he might have something worthwhile to say - ludicrous. You’d think I was born yesterday.’ 

‘The press got a lot of that wrong - Harry got a lot of that wrong - Dennis wasn’t as-’

He laughed. ‘Forgiven him, have you?’

‘No of course not,’ she said sharply, though her heart was fluttering with frantic anxiety. ‘And I certainly don’t agree with Death Eaters, so I wasn’t going to go running to them. But I was just unfortunate collateral to Dennis, and the way he described the…’ she hesitated, wincing in genuine confusion. ‘I’m sorry, you were right, earlier, when you said I’d had a miscalculation… Dennis always talked about a group-’

‘Yes, he would have done,’ said Quirnius. ‘We put him in the village.’ He rose out of his chair, and gestured for her to do the same. Carrying his brandy so lazily in his hand that it was a wonder it didn’t spill onto the soft white rug, he led her to the neat bookshelf. 

There, he pulled out a red photo album, and thrust it carelessly at her. ‘There,’ he said. ‘My greatest achievement.’ 

She opened it to see photos of small wooden cabins - like the holiday chalets her mother had liked, and smiling people - families, some of them, but young people too, and old, every type of person. It was in some kind of forest, but in the background she could see an old ruined church, and half destroyed buildings. 

‘Muggles used to live there, once upon a time, but there was a bit of trouble - you can still see the bullet holes, look - and they all cleared out. Well, you know, I knew there was all this rotten business in your neck of the woods, so we built up these huts and the muggleborns stayed there, you know.’ 

‘Wow,’ said Theia, blinking down at the photos. ‘The… the war refugees?’ The bar was well known for being a refugee port, she had known this already - it was where Dennis had met the group he discussed. But she hadn’t realised that the little clusters and communities that had cropped up across the continent might have organisers and leaders. 

‘Some of them. Got a medal for it,’ he said, and he tapped a little glass box Theia hadn’t noticed - inside was a golden medal, like the one Harry begrudgingly wore for formal events, but on a white ribbon instead of the emerald green of his. 

‘And others,’ said Emil in a low voice. Theia started - she had almost forgotten he was there. 

‘Quite,’ said Quirnius loudly, taking the album back and shoving it roughly back in it’s spot. None of the spines of the books had words on them - they were all uniformly bound in royal red leather. Theia wondered how he knew which was the correct one to take - he hadn’t browsed at all. 

‘I took in all the waifs and strays,’ he said, shrugging carelessly. He gave a sudden, barking laugh. ‘Didn’t expect to be sheltering criminals, though!’ 

Theia ignored him. ‘What others?’ she asked. 

‘Oh, no, my dear,’ he said, wagging his finger at her while he still clutched his brandy glass. ‘No, no, it’s your turn to be interesting now. Come on, tell me all about the downfall of Harry Potter. I hear that you argued recently - that’s what Potter has told the other aurors.’ 

She stared at him, her stomach twisting. His cool blue eyes, almost grey, glinted. ‘Man in the know, aren’t you?’ she said quietly. 

‘Of course,’ he boomed grandly. He swaggered back to his leather chair and sat heavily, taking another long puff on his, now short, cigar. ‘Do you really think I would let you into my house without doing a bit of digging? Do you think Emil would have brought you here if we hadn’t checked a few things?’ 

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said, sitting back down on the sofa herself. She was trying to keep her expression cool, but her mind was racing - yes, they had held a mock argument behind the closed door of his office, and made sure to make little snide comments to one another in front of their coworkers, but this had been so that it was convincing for the rest of the team. They hadn’t bothered to go beyond very shallow, mundane arguments, nothing deep enough to warrant her physically attacking him. It had just been a form of insurance so there’d be a convincing hunt for her… They had not expected…

‘You were upset, I hear, that he was taking more paternity leave than normal?’ he said. ‘Two months rather than the standard two weeks.’ 

She opened her mouth, and then closed it again, blinking at him for a moment before speaking. ‘I just… It wasn’t really about that. It was about his priorities.’ 

Quirnius snorted dismissively. ‘Orphans are all the same. Terrified of being crap parents so they’ll overcompensate. You should have known. He’s easy to predict - everyone is, once you know what they’re scared of.’ He smirked again and jabbed his cigar at Emil. ‘He’s scared of everyone finding out that he’s a werewolf.’ 

Theia couldn’t help it - her gaze snapped towards Emil, who had tensed slightly, a pinkness spreading across his cheeks and vanishing into his beard, but otherwise remained leaned against the wall, his arms folded. 

Quirnius laughed. ‘Come now, Emil, don’t be like that. I look after you, don’t I, old chap? Get you that potion.’ 

‘Yes,’ said Emil, ducking his head, his mouth twitching into a smile. ‘You do.’ 

‘So no need to worry,’ said Quirnius, stubbing out the last of his cigar in a glistening crystal ash tray. 

Theia half expected Quirnius to start prying into what she was afraid of, but instead he poured himself more brandy and, as cheerfully as though they were discussing the weather, said, ‘so, back to Harry Potter. His priorities were elsewhere, you say?’ 

Theia was silent for a few moments, and then, ‘he seemed happy enough that it was just Dennis being mad.’ 

‘It was Dennis just being mad,’ said Quirnius. ‘Highly dull.’ 

‘But I disagreed,’ said Theia firmly. ‘It was clear to me that even if Dennis was acting alone, he wasn’t the only one that thought those things. And while obviously I wish he hadn’t done what he did, it did highlight to me that Potter’s… well, he’s very good at playing the reluctant hero. Not so bothered about finishing the job.’ 

‘Hmm… Got his Order of Merlin, attractive wife and kid and is done for the day, is that what you’re saying?’ 

‘Pretty much,’ said Theia. 

‘So why here? Why me? Quite frankly, Theia, I find you bewildering. I don’t know why you would listen to Dennis, and I don’t know why you would come to me. You’re going to have to convince me very quickly, my dear.’

She sighed. ‘I don’t… I’m not going to convince you. I don’t care any more, I can’t be bothered to figure out sides or rights and wrongs. I stabbed Harry because I was fucking furious with how much he’s let me down, and how everyone thinks he’s some great hero when actually he just lucks and blunders through it all. I don’t want to follow in Dennis’s footsteps, but I wanted to see what he had been banging on about, where he was coming from. If you want to hand me over, fine. I don’t care any more. I just wanted something to change, I didn’t want to keep plodding along pretending everything was fine, bored out of my mind listening to him prattle on about his baby when my family was taken away from me.’

He looked at her very carefully, his eyes cool and hard, like they were made of glass. ‘I am gambling man, you know… Miss Higglesworth,’ he said, ‘have you come here looking for a job?’ 

***

‘Ughr…’ 

‘Don’t be silly, boy, I never had you down as squeamish - stick your hand in-’

‘Bessie, Jesus Christ…’ The body squelched unpleasantly, a putrid smell filled the room, and Harry turned his face away, gagging. 

‘Feel that?’ said Bessie. 

‘Yep…’ he forced himself to say, trying not to breathe in the smell. 

‘Now that’s evidence of poison, you see how hard it feels.’ 

‘Mmm. Yeah. Good.’ 

‘And when I pull back this bit-’

‘Ughr…’ 

‘So you can see it must have been a slow acting poison, look, it’s spread all the way up here.’ 

The body moaned. ‘Fuck!’ Harry shouted, leaping back. 

Bessie tutted irritably at him and yanked him back. ‘It’s just the gases escaping, don’t be so soft.’ 

When they were finished with that unpleasantness, Harry found himself staring at some very old bones while Bessie tried to show him evidence of dragon pox, but they all looked the same to him, and after that he endured one of the research assistants, Caroline, desperately trying to flirt with him while they reconstructed the face of some poor wizard who’d ventured into a troll cave in a poor attempt to recruit it as a security gard. 

‘You really do have very striking eyes,’ Caroline was saying breathlessly, while blood noisily splattered onto the floor. 

‘Thanks,’ said Harry awkwardly, holding the mandible in place as he repaired it with his wand. 

‘Are they naturally like that?’ 

‘Er… yeah. I think so…’ 

‘And your dark hair-’

‘Yeah, my new baby son has my dark hair too,’ Harry said pointedly. ‘But he has my wife’s eyes.’ 

‘Oh, I bet you’re a wonderful father,’ said Caroline, beaming up at him. 

‘Er…’ 

Bessie wandered over, pulling off a pair of rubber gloves and looking sternly at Caroline. ‘Put your tongue back in, pet,’ she said brusquely, ‘he’s a married man.’ She ignored Caroline’s scarlet face and looked at Harry. ‘How do you feel?’ 

He considered for a moment, wondering if there was something wrong with him. ‘Hungry,’ he said. 

She nodded. ‘Thought so. Scrub up and follow me, I’ve ordered some kebabs down, but we can’t eat them in here. Caz, you keep going, pet, Bob’s just getting into his apron and he’ll be taking over while Potter and I have lunch.’ 

Throwing Bessie a grateful look, and wondering why he did feel so ravenously hungry after being around dead bodies all day, Harry pulled off his own gloves and discarded his apron, washing his hands up to the elbows and trying not to think of the pus covered liver he had been forced to touch earlier. 

He sat in the quiet breakroom with Bessie, away from the bodies and any potential for cross-contamination, and practically devoured the lamb kebab she had ordered down. ‘Oh my god,’ he mumbled thickly as he bit into it, closing his eyes. 

‘It’s the potion we spray over them to preserve magical evidence,’ Bessie said, tucking into her chips. 

He shook his head. ‘You could have warned me, I’ve been feeling like a… arsehole all day. Thinking about food while some poor sod’s on a slab in front of me.’ 

She chuckled. ‘Well, you’ve adjusted quicker than most. They don’t bother you?’ she asked, jerking her head back at the door, through which the bodies lay. 

‘Probably would if I knew any of them,’ said Harry. He hesitated. ‘Bessie… why did you go into this job?’ 

‘Mebbe I’m just creepy, pet,’ she said with a shrug. ‘And I don’t like chatting.’ 

‘I’m serious.’ 

She chewed slowly on her chips for a few moments. ‘There’s a… honour in it,’ she said at last. ‘Doesn’t matter who comes through those doors, it’s my job to figure out how they died, and get them looking ready for their funeral. You know, you can’t always treat them with the dignity you would like, it’s not pleasant work, but you do it because someone, at some point, cared for that person, and you owe it to them.’ 

‘What about when evil people come through?’ Harry asked. 

‘Someone has always cared, even if it wasn’t for very long. It’s only right to treat ‘em with a bit of dignity.’ 

He winced. ‘We burned Voldemort’s body. The next day. They asked me what I wanted to do with it, as though I was the one who…’ 

‘And you asked for it to be burned?’ she asked. There was no judgement in her tone. 

‘No,’ said Harry. ‘I said I didn’t know, I didn’t care, and then they said burning was probably best so that there was no point of pilgrimage or anything for Death Eaters to go to - there’d be nothing left. I was knackered, so I didn’t really think about it, just said yes.’ 

‘Do you think it was the right decision?’ 

‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘I don’t think there was a right decision… But it was only his mother who truly cared about him, and she died hours after he was born.’

‘Was she a witch?’ Bessie asked. ‘I’ve been working here coming up to, gosh, eighty years, perhaps I prepared her body.’ 

Harry stared at her for a second, and then laughed. ‘Piss off,’ he said. ‘You haven’t been working here eighty years.’ 

‘I have.’ 

‘There’s no way you’re - how old are you?’ 

‘Don’t be rude, pet,’ she said, deadpan. 

He just laughed harder. ‘I had you down for, I don’t know, in your sixties.’ 

‘Flattery will get you nowhere - as I just pointed out to my silliest researcher, you are a married man.’ 

‘You’ve been working in this morgue for eighty years?’ he clarified incredulously. 

‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘I had to leave during the worst of war - I was kicking up too much of a fuss about what was happening, so I had to lie low for a while. But yes, with the exception of a few months in ‘98, I’ve always been in here. Started when I was fifteen - it was more common to leave after your O.W.Ls then - and I’ve stayed here since. I started out as a standard assistant, but ended up stumbling into a lot of work with the law enforcement department too, so at least I get to get out of here now and then and go and see a crime scene.’ 

He grinned broadly at her, deeply impressed. ‘You don’t look a day over sixty five,’ he said. 

‘Shh,’ she scolded, flinging a chip at him. 

They ate for a few more minutes in comfortable silence, and then, without really thinking about it, Harry spoke again. ‘You must have handled my parents bodies.’ 

She looked at him carefully. ‘I wondered when you’d ask about that,’ she said. 

‘Do you remember them?’ he asked. 

‘Well, it was quite a remarkable event,’ she said. ‘So yes, I took particular note. You look very much like your father.’ 

Her tone was gentle, and Harry realised that she probably only knew this from James’s dead body. It was unlikely she had ever met him living and breathing. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ve been told.’ 

Bessie sighed, looking into the middle distance. ‘They didn’t need much work doing on them, it must have been quick.’ 

‘It was,’ said Harry, quite calmly. 

‘But I’ll always remember the poor young lad who came in to identify them,’ she said vaguely. ‘It’s a formality, you know, we all knew who they were, but someone had to do it, and I think he was a friend of theirs. It’s quite a job, for people to do that. It’s the one part of my work I don’t enjoy. It can be very traumatic for them. It’s always upsetting see, because it reminds you of their humanity. Stops you getting too jaded, I think.’ 

It must have been Remus, Harry thought. It must have been awful. 

‘But that’s the thing with this job,’ said Bessie abruptly. ‘You get very used to death, you have the privilege of walking alongside it and understanding it without being afraid. You can’t ever fix it for people, but you can help them along. There’s an acceptance about it - a peacefulness. Sometimes you’re helping solve a crime, sometimes you’re just making sure they’re ready, but either way they’re dead and you’re not going to change that.’

Harry nodded. ‘I understand that,’ he said. 

‘Do you?’ she asked. ‘I usually dread Aurors being sent down here because they’re fixers - they want to fix everything. They want to solve crimes and prevent more deaths and it gets them all frustrated when they come down here and face the inevitability of it all. They end up desperately trying to work out how they could have been saved or who’s fault it was, even when it’s someone who was coming up to 150 and probably wanted to move on any way. They think they get death because they see it a lot, but it’s not the same as really accepting it.’ 

‘Bessie, I really hate to do this,’ said Harry, with great amusement, ‘but you do remember that I basically died, don’t you? I reckon I can fairly say that I’ve accepted death.’ 

She tutted, and rolled her eyes. ‘Of course you did. I forget - that’s why I like working with you, pet, you’re not at all what I expected. I thought you’d be a little shit.’ 

‘Cheers,’ he said, grinning. 

He felt the mirror on his inside pocket glow warm, and a tiny, whispering voice in his ear. ‘Harry.’ 

‘Of course you can still be a little prick from time to time, but you don’t seem to take it personally when I tell you off for it,’ Bessie was continuing obliviously. ‘That’s nice to see too, I can’t bear whiners.’ 

‘Speaking of being a little prick, would you mind if I took a quick break?’ he asked. 

She looked at him sharply. ‘This is your break, we’re having it.’ 

He grinned. ‘Er… yeah, but I need to pop out…’ 

She raised her eyebrows, and bit into her kebab. ‘I see how it is,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to sit with an old lady.’ 

‘Ah, Bessie,’ he said, as he rose and clapped her on the shoulder. ‘I’m glad you understand.’ 

‘Cheeky beggar!’ she shouted after him as he left the room, cheerfully waving over his shoulder. 

***

She waited nervously at the glossy dresser, listening to Harry’s voice joking with Bessie, staring at a blackness she was sure was the inside of his pocket, hearing his clothes rustle and doors creak. Finally, the little cracked shard of mirror carefully slotted into her compact glimmered from black to a stark white, blurred as it was being pulled up until she was looking, bizarrely, at what seemed like a broken shard of Harry’s face - just one green eye and half his nose and his mouth. His breath was coming out as little puffs of steam. 

‘Where are you?’ she frowned, in greeting. 

‘In a cold room in the morgue; long, unimportant story,’ he said quickly. ‘Where are you? Are you still in Prague?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘We’re not being overheard? Are you safe? It’s been days, I’ve been worried-’ 

‘I’ll have to be quick,’ she said in a last voice. ‘He’s just sent me in to change.’ 

‘What?’ The green eye narrowed. ‘Who?’ 

‘Harry, it’s not what I was expecting - it’s a man called Quirnius Faucher, I’m at his home. I’m not sure what the deal is yet.’ 

‘I’ll look him up,’ said Harry. ‘What do you mean, change?’ 

‘He’s taking me out to dinner - Harry, it’s bizarre. He’s completely backing away from any association with Dennis, and he says that he likes you and finds you interesting.’ 

‘But he’s still not handing you over?’ 

‘No. I think he finds me entertaining.’ She hesitated. ‘He says he’s offering me a job.’ 

‘A job?’ 

‘I don’t know yet, he said he’d explain - but look.’ She rose, and spun the mirror slowly around the exquisite, luxurious bedroom - the silk bedding, the modern art, the shades of grey and cream and chocolate brown - and then over to the wardrobe, where she opened it to reveal designer muggle clothing - floaty dresses and sharp blazers, elegant blouses and leather jackets, all hanging above neatly arranged high heels. She pulled open a drawer where necklaces and earrings and bracelets twinkling in the soft lighting, the rubies and emeralds and sapphires and diamonds shining coldly.

‘How come you get undercover work like this and poor Neville spent two months in a caravan site?’ said Harry flippantly. 

Theia felt annoyed - she turned the mirror back to her face and glared at him, though she had no idea if he could see any more of her face than she could of his. ‘Are you joking? I feel like he’s dressing me up like a doll. I’m worried he...’ 

‘If you’re in danger, call us,’ he said quickly. 

‘I will, but there’s more - they’ve confiscated my wand.’ 

She couldn’t see his expression, but his horror struck silence was enough. ‘Tell me you didn’t hand it over?’ 

‘I had to-’

‘Theia!’ 

‘I needed to get inside the house, I needed to know. I still don’t think they trust me, really, I think they’re just intrigued.’ 

‘They?’ 

‘There’s a werewolf here too,’ she whispered, her spine tingling in fear. ‘Harry, there’s a werewolf and I don’t have my wand-’

‘It’s not full moon,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Not for a while - and Theia you remember what to shout if there’s a problem.’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘We’ll be there in seconds.’ 

‘Yes.’ Now she frowned. ‘Are you really in the morgue?’ 

‘Yeah,’ he said, waving his own mirror around, and Theia could just about see the frosty cold room, with the tall metal drawers, like filing cabinets, where bodies lay. ‘I’m on secondment here so I can answer your calls more easily.’ 

She winced. ‘How ghastly - must be horribly depressing.’ 

‘Nah, it’s all right,’ said Harry, bringing the mirror back onto his face. ‘Try and get your wand back, Theia - really work at getting them to trust you. You shouldn’t be without your wand.’


End file.
